


Careless Mornings

by dearxalchemist



Series: The Triumvirate [3]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, F/M, Morning Sex, Mornings, Multi, OT3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 08:50:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6899278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearxalchemist/pseuds/dearxalchemist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gaby kisses in the most unapologetic of ways. It’s something Napoleon noticed the first time she had tugged on his tie and pulled him down to her level. She kisses like she doesn’t have years left on her life.  With Illya though she is much gentler. Like she’s afraid he is made up of glass and one wrong move will splinter his heart into tiny little shards. One wrong move and Napoleon will steal him away from her destructive little hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Careless Mornings

Gaby kisses in the most unapologetic of ways. It’s something Napoleon noticed the first time she had tugged on his tie and pulled him down to her level. She kisses like she doesn’t have years left on her life. Her hands are always needing to grab onto something, nails desperate to sink into someone, almost anyone and a lot of the times that's how it goes. Her lips will be on Illya’s, soft and gentle while her hands are grasping onto Napoleon. Her hands are never soft when her lips are gentle. She claws and digs at him, her hands squeeze and bruise his flesh, but he lets her. He never tries to stop her and if he did, she wouldn’t listen. With Illya though she is much gentler. Like she’s afraid he is made up of glass and one wrong move will splinter his heart into tiny little shards. One wrong move and Napoleon will steal him away from her destructive little hands. 

It’s no different now when they’re strewn together in a king size bed. The blankets are a mess, tangled between three sets of legs and part of the sheets are pulled up away from the mattress itself. Gaby is propped up against a mountain of pillows, one she’s constructed herself by stealing both of the boys and even ordering more from the hotel front desk. Her back is propped up, legs pulled up and her knees are pressed together as she thumbs her fingers across the small dark pearl ring on her left hand. She has yet to take it off since Rome. Illya never asks her to, even when it doesn’t match her outfit, but now Napoleon reaches over and takes her left hand. His other arm is cradled under his head, giving him some leverage in the morning light since she has stolen his pillow. His blue eyes are alert, she wonders vaguely how long he has been awake, but doesn’t bother asking as his fingers find the little ring. He threatens to pull it off of her finger but Gaby curls her fingers in, impeding his thievery. 

“Peril never gets me gifts.” Solo spoke quietly into the morning light that’s threatening to spill across the mattress. It’s too early for any of them to be awake, but Gaby has hardly slept a wink and Solo seems to sleep in tiny little bursts. Paranoia has settled into his lifestyle as a spy and Illya,--Illya could be sleeping but he could also be awake. Gaby can never really tell. He hardly moves at all, his head is propped up by his folded arm and his muscles are relaxed, breathing even, but she knows if she moves even the slightest that both of his crystal blue eyes will practically pop open. 

“I hardly count that as a gift.” Gaby murmurs quietly. She turns her head down, dark hair piled up into a careless bun with stray little pieces falling onto her tan cheeks. She is a work of living art and Solo likes to dress her as so. She watches the way his fingers work over the little pearl, “It was more like a reassurance.”

“That fake marriages last?” 

Gaby grins now, laying her cheek into the soft hotel pillow. Her make up from the night before is smeared, she looks sleepily disheveled and yet very much awake all at the same time, “More or less. I figured out the secret though in the car on the way there. Staring at that ring, too light to be real jewels. I figured he was using it to track me or listen. Mostly to listen to me talk to the Vinciguerra playboy, I knew he could hear all the terrible things I was going to say.”

“You still said them.”

“That is because Chop Shop is very good spy, unlike you.” 

The Russian is awake and rolling over now. He’s on Gaby’s right while Napoleon is on her left. He rolls onto his side and hooks his arm around her bare middle, dragging her into him. He is all warm skin and hard plains of muscles. She leans back into him a bit, her left hand still in Napoleon’s grasp. 

“Do you have a tracker on me?” Napoleon asked feeling a bit left out, his voice was soft still and danced along the line of playful. He sat up a bit more, elbow digging into the mattress as he propped his head up. His fingers curve over the ring again before he pulls Gaby’s fingers up to his mouth. With a careful move, he leans in and kisses her hand like he’s courting her, like they haven’t spent the last few hours tangled together in hardly any clothing at all. His small gesture warms her heart though, she can feel her heartbeat starting to pick up and then Illya murmurs something softly in his native tongue against the back of her shoulder and Solo answers him in Russian. Gaby’s lips twist down into a tiny frown.

“What did you say?” She asks openly, waiting for either one of them to answer her. A moment of silence ticks by and then Illya shakes with silent laughter against her backside and Napoleon’s lips turn up wide. 

“Skimping out on lessons?” The American asks as he turns to face her fully, he pulls on her hand and Gaby leans in a bit, but Illya’s grip on her waist tightens, fingers almost threatening to bruise the soft skin of her hips. She secretly enjoys the pressure and raises both brows to Solo.

“No,” She lies and they both know she is lying, they both know she is terrible at learning Russian. She can count and ask a few spare phrases but other than that, she is very poor at keeping up. Mostly because her lessons end up with her unapologetic kisses. 

Illya’s laugh rumbles against her back again and then his jaw rubs against the space between her shoulders, stubble scratching against the skin which makes her shiver. He nuzzles himself there, hiding his golden head from the early morning light, keeping away the responsibilities of the day as his lips claim a spot right next to the strap of her bra. It’s a soft little kiss that somehow still manages to brand her flesh. She can feel his lips there long after he pulls away. Napoleon mutters something in Russian again and she can only pick up on one or two words before Illya answers and this time and Illya’s answer is rough. His tone is low and sounds close to a growl against her back and Gaby shivers again as his hand slides down to the front of her underwear. The muscles in her stomach jump at the sudden contact but, it’s all forgotten when Napoleon pulls her hand up to his lips again. His lips skim the underside of her wrist,then across the delicate skin of her forearm to the bend in her elbow. Everywhere he touches feels like a match striking against her skin. Gaby twists for a moment, her back pressing onto the mattress, hips facing Napoleon as Illya’s fingers hook into the sides of her panties. He doesn’t pull them down just yet. Instead he watches as Napoleon lets his lips trail up her arm, up her toned shoulder and even then he doesn’t move. Illya just watches the American take his time with the mechanic. Napoleon drags his mouth up the column of her throat and then over her sharp jaw line. Then he’s kissing her. Napoleon steals kisses how Illya imagines he steals fine art. It’s careful and calculated. He knows just where to press his lips, he knows when to slide his tongue over her bottom lip and when to grasp at her chin to hold her steady. He holds her in place with gentle hands, tongue sliding over her own. Gaby opens up so easily under his attention that it practically hypnotizes the KGB Agent. 

Gaby makes a soft sighing noise against Napoleon’s mouth and he pulls away just long enough to send his trademark smirk towards Illya. Illya scowled and leaned over Gaby, his mouth finding Napoleon’s own. Gaby held her breath, watching them for a moment, so close that she could practically feel the heat of their mouths against her own. Her fingers slipped down and covered Illya’s own, pushing her underwear the rest of the way down with his help. Her action startles Illya and he breaks the kiss with Napoleon, giving Gaby the opportunity to kiss him next and she does. She kisses him all unapologetically again. Her mouth is bruising against Illya’s and her hands drift up from his towards Napoleon’s boxers. She presses her palm over the front of his boxers, just hard enough to hear him gasp against her shoulder. The American’s mouth skims down her shoulder and then down to the front of her bra where he mouths over the soft lace. She moans into Illya and her fingers dip inside of his boxers as Napoleon pulls the fabric of her bra down just enough to suck a red spot against the soft flesh. Another moan leaves her and Illya catches it just as his fingers settle on her thigh. His hand is impossibly large against her small leg and she shivers as his fingers massage the warm skin there, slowly skimming up. Gaby’s free hand finds Napoleon’s messy hair and she spears her fingers against the dark locks. She pulls him in closer, arching her back up just as Illya’s fingers dip inside of her. Her movements make Napoleon smile and he drags his teeth lower and he let’s Illya hold her legs open while he makes himself at home between them. 

Napoleon’s weight is anchoring her to the bed. His elbows press just above her knees, right below Illya’s hands. Illya holds her open, his mouth skipping away from hers and dragging a wet line down to the column of her throat. Gaby is a goner the moment Napoleon’s mouth touches her. He takes an agonizing pace, sucking at the soft skin of her thighs, biting over the red marks to make them even redder. She squirms and Illya only holds her tighter, growling something out in his mother tongue and Napoleon replies again - -frustrating her even further. 

Gaby groans out her own curse in German and Napoleon’s brows go up, eyes widen a bit as he pulls his lips away from her thigh, “Sailor’s mouth on that one.” He comments to her, talking about her like she’s not lying legs spread in front of him. Illya scoffs into her collar and Gaby flushes a deep red color when Napoleon’s tongue drags over the length of her, drawing a sharp cry from her lips. Her hips buck up but Illya grounds them. His grip tightens, hands pushing her into the mattress steady and firm. He’s careful not to bruise her, always so gentle whereas Napoleon turns his head and bites her thigh. The sharp bite almost breaks the skin and Gaby practically digs her nails into his scalp. The American goes back to work, his mouth pressing over her folds, his tongue dancing across the length of her cunt and his fingers are sliding up now. He stops to squeeze Illya’s hand, a soft gesture just before pushing a finger inside of her. She shudders and Illya moves a hand up from her thighs to her stomach, tracing a line up her flat stomach to cup one of her breasts. His thumb brushes over her nipple and she arches her back all over again. Napoleon pushes her to a ledge, he’s very good with his mouth, even better with those thieving fingers. She feels him crook two of his fingers and something snaps just as his tongue presses over her clint. Gaby moans turning over, Illya no longer able to hold her as she closes her thighs around Napoleon, trapping him as she rides out her orgasm, holding to Illya’s shoulders, pulling him up to kiss her. 

He kisses her so gently while she threatens to smother Napoleon there between her legs. He doesn’t stop moving either, working her past her orgasm and soft shudders. His tongue laps against her and Gaby feels something warm pressing against her hip, Illya’s grinding against her and she feels a tiny bit selfish in keeping them all to herself. That feeling doesn’t last long though, not when Napoleon’s hand slides away from her thigh and disappears behind the curve of her rear. Illya gasps against her throat and she grins to herself, knowing that the talented thief has his fingers around Illya. Slowly Napoleon extracts himself, half laying on top of her, his hand working around Illya’s cock which is brushing against the small of her back and just to spite the smug man, Gaby reaches down and takes Napoleon’s cock. Her calloused fingers wrap around him carefully and she listens to him hiss as he leans over her. His mouth presses a kiss into the curve of her hip and then he bites the flesh there. Gaby squeaks and backs up a bit, pushing closer to Illya who is breathing harder now. His jaw is clenched tight and his over her chest tightens softly. He apologetically smoothes his palm over her breast and then rolls her nipple between his fingers before stroking downwards. His fingers find the wet mess Napoleon left behind and slips inside of her. Illya’s touch is different from Napoleon’s but there is no pinning them against one another. It would be a travesty to compare either one of them side by side when she can have them both in her bed. Napoleon leans over Gaby further, the three of them are a tangled mess of limbs but Napoleon uses Gaby as a pillow momentarily, leaning in and dragging his tongue over the head of Illya’s cock. The Russian man swears into Gaby’s flesh and he moves a second finger inside of her. She’s still sensitive from Napoleon, her hips jerk and she feels Napoleon’s muscles strain over her. She pulls her hand away from his cock and runs her tongue over the flat of her palm before reaching back down, wrapping around him again. He swears against Illya and bucks his hips forward. The teasing games have begun and now everyone is close to an edge and the tension in the air is thick making everything hard to swallow. Illya’s hand digs into Napoleon’s hair and he pulls the man up, kisses him and pushes him down on to the mattress. They both climb over Gaby and Illya pins Napoleon into the mattress, one leg tangling with the Chop Shop Girl’s own. Gaby watches in wonder, breath hitching as they meet for a kiss. 

Napoleon is an artist with kissing and Illya doesn’t hold back with Napoleon. There is no gentle coaxing of the mouth, it’s all hard and desperate. They kiss like they’ve been apart for years rather than a for a few hours of sleep. There is a groan from one of them and then a clash of teeth as Illya bites on Napoleon’s bottom lip, tugging gently on the other man. His hands smooth over the front of Napoleon’s chest and he maps out the track of muscles, hands moving to Napoleon’s hips where he grips them so tightly that Gaby can see the bruises already forming. Napoleon says something in Russian and then looks at Gaby, winking at her. She feels confusion at first and then Illya pulls her across the mattress like she weighs nothing. He pulls her close enough to kiss but skips her mouth all together as he lets go of Napoleon. A quick shuffle against the bed as Illya laying back against the bottom half of the mattress and Gaby settling on his hips. Napoleon has taken over her mountain of pillows, looking way too handsome for his own good. He’s watching them, hand on himself, fingers tightening around his cock as he watches Gaby raise her hips up. She’s still slick from Napoleon’s tongue and Illya’s fingers. The evidence is running down her tan thighs and Illya practically groans as she sinks down on to him. His hands shake, hovering close to her hips. He doesn’t want to hurt her, but he can’t take the agonizing pace that Napoleon likes to keep. 

Her hands move down to his own and Gaby plants his hands on her hips. She holds him there. Her fingers lace along his carefully as she starts to move. She goes slow, lifting and falling back against his hips. Each time she grinds a little lower just to watch his eyes roll back, just to watch him come a little more undone. His knuckles turn bloodless and then she moves again. Gaby rides him until she loses herself. She keeps her eyes on Napoleon and her hands on Illya’s own as she moves them up to her breasts, encouraging him along. Her lips part and Napoleon mirrors her movements. His own plush mouth opens and he’s gasping for a moment, moving forward. Gaby lets go of one of Illya’s hands and she wraps it around Napoleon’s cock. The American gives a strangled gasp, his skin tight with corded muscles shining under his skin as he spills himself against her hand and Illya’s chest. Illya can’t take much more. The sight of Napoleon coming undone in Gaby’s palm is enough to send him over the edge but he doesn’t go without taking Gaby. He thrusts up, feet planting on the mattress. He drives into her and moves his free hand down, fingers slipping over her clit. Napoleon catches her in a kiss and she moans into his mouth. She shudders over Illya who’s pulling out of her quickly. He pulls himself free and Napoleon finishes him off with a few short tugs, spilling onto Gaby’s thighs. The three of them collapse together in a heap. Limbs are endless and they are tangled together like a jigsaw puzzle. Three of the world’s greatest spies are in love, with each other. 

Gaby’s breathing calms down just as Napoleon tucks her under his chin and Illya lays his head on Napoleon’s thigh, kissing the bruises he’s left behind with warm soft lips. The morning light now crawls halfway across the mattress. It’s still early, most of the world is still asleep and Illya risks just a moment in closing his eyes. They don’t get up to rearrange themselves. They settle with their sweaty and sticky limbs across the hotel bed, tired and tangled. Napoleon speaks up first, clearing his throat, his voice is still low and husky against the crown of Gaby’s head, “About that ring…” 

Illya’s lips twitch into a grin and Gaby laughs low against his throat before swatting at his chest. 

“If you like mine so much Solo, we can share.” She murmurs into his flesh, tired and obviously well spent, “You are very good at sharing.”

**Author's Note:**

> Well I am going to hell in a hand basket for all this sinning, I hope you enjoyed it. All mistakes are my own, and I just love this OT3 a lot, I wish there were a thousand more fics for them.


End file.
